No More Learning

'Tis time to many her, 'tis true,
But tell me what am I to do?
To all she answers cruelly--
I will not wed, and ever weeps
And lonely through the forest creeps. "

XXIV

"Is she in love? " quoth one. "With whom?
Bouyanoff courted. She refused.
Petoushkoff met the selfsame doom.
The hussar Pikhtin was accused.
How the young imp on Tania doted!
To captivate her how devoted!
I mused: perhaps the matter's squared--
O yes! my hopes soon disappeared. "
"But, _matushka_, to Moscow you(70)
Should go, the market for a maid,
With many a vacancy, 'tis said. "--
"Alas!
my friend, no revenue! "
"Enough to see one winter's end;
If not, the money I will lend. "

[Note 70: "Matushka," or "little mother," a term of endearment
in constant use amongst Russian females. ]

XXV

The venerable dame opined
The counsel good and full of reason,
Her money counted, and designed
To visit Moscow in the season.
Tattiana learns the intelligence--
Of her provincial innocence
The unaffected traits she now
Unto a carping world must show--
Her toilette's antiquated style,
Her antiquated mode of speech,
For Moscow fops and Circes each
To mark with a contemptuous smile.
Horror! had she not better stay
Deep in the greenwood far away?

XXVI

Arising with the morning's light,
Unto the fields she makes her way,
And with emotional delight
Surveying them, she thus doth say:
"Ye peaceful valleys all, good-bye!
Ye well-known mountain summits high,
Ye groves whose depths I know so well,
Thou beauteous sky above, farewell!
Delicious nature, thee I fly,
The calm existence which I prize
I yield for splendid vanities,
Thou too farewell, my liberty!
Whither and wherefore do I speed
And what will Destiny concede? "

XXVII

Farther Tattiana's walks extend--
'Tis now the hillock now the rill
Their natural attractions lend
To stay the maid against her will.
She the acquaintances she loves,
Her spacious fields and shady groves,
Another visit hastes to pay.
But Summer swiftly fades away
And golden Autumn draweth nigh,
And pallid nature trembling grieves,
A victim decked with golden leaves;
Dark clouds before the north wind fly;
It blew: it howled: till winter e'en
Came forth in all her magic sheen.

XXVIII

The snow descends and buries all,
Hangs heavy on the oaken boughs,
A white and undulating pall
O'er hillock and o'er meadow throws.
The channel of the river stilled
As if with eider-down is filled.